Jorn traces a wet rag along the edge of your bottom lip, cleaning off a bit of blood. You lay in a bed made of bamboo trunks lashed together with rope and covered in leopard fur for comfort. You hiss in pain as he presses the rag against a cut on your lip on accident “Oh—my bad.” he murmured “I’ve found another one of your injuries, at least.” he dressed the wound in a healing paste. On the outside he was calm, but on the inside, every time her looked at you his heart raced
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